


In Disguise

by Dot_adsty



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Witness Protection, friends-to lovers- to friends- to lovers, oh no there is only one bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29546844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dot_adsty/pseuds/Dot_adsty
Summary: One night, Hermione's life is turned upside down. After years of normalcy, her life is in danger once again. She must learn to hide in plain sight–changing her appearance, her name, and her life. Though, she is not sent to her new life alone; a prestigious Auror is sent to protect her and pretend to be her husband. An Auror who she had barely spoken to in the last few years after a disastrous break up tore them apart.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 28
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all,
> 
> I am trying my hand at working on more than one fic at a time. If you are reading The First Year, don't worry, I am still working on it! This fic should be (should is the opportune word) shorter than my others, and much more fluffy. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> ~Dot

It had been another fatiguing day at the Ministry. As usual, it was well past the end of the working day, but Hermione could be found toiling along, working furiously on her proposals. This week she was focusing on reforming a law that disallowed centaurs from owning property. It was ridiculous that such biased, and frankly racist, laws were still on the books, but it no longer surprised Hermione. For the last four years, she had been working in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and had dealt with archaic laws affecting magical creatures almost daily.

With her last full stop, Hermione stretched, realising she hadn't moved for hours. She looked outside through her tiny half-window and saw that it was pitch-black out and decided it was time to head home. She started to pack her things, though she dawdled, not in a rush to head home anytime soon. It's not as if her home wasn't nice; she lived in a small flat in the posh part of town and could walk to work. It was cosy, but just the right size for her. Perhaps that was the problem– it was the right size for her, and only her. After years of sharing a room, and being surrounded by others, she was now alone. She didn't like the quietness and emptiness of it; it was unsettling. Though it hadn't always been the case.

After returning to Hogwarts for her 7th (really 8th) year, she was offered her position at the Ministry the second she graduated. She took it without hesitation and went on the hunt for a place to live. However, she wasn't alone in her pursuits. Since the Aurors were housed in the Ministry, and she was working at the Ministry, it made sense to move to London. After realising the cost, she and Ron decided to move to a flat just outside of the city limits. It was a small flat, even smaller than the one-bedroom she has now, but it was somehow perfect for the two of them...until it wasn't. When they decided to amicably (or at least that's what they told everyone) split, Ron offered Hermione the flat. It made sense, especially since Ron was constantly gone on Auror missions. But, Hermione couldn't stand to be there. She felt consumed by their past, by all of the fantastic memories, and the happiness; she had to move.

It was a hard transition, trying to figure out their new-but-old roles as "just" friends. At first, Hermione avoided the burrow but was quickly admonished– she was still family and she was coming to Sunday dinners, if Molly had anything to do about it. Ron was often gone anyway, and when he wasn't… well, they were cordial. They had matured, at least somewhat, over the past three years. It _almost_ felt normal now, just being friends with him. But, there was something– something she couldn't quite put her finger on, that was off. They were nice to each other– too nice. They hadn't fought since their blowout-turned-break up. It was as if they were afraid to show too much emotion, too much passion, towards one another.

Hermione sighed; there was no use thinking about the past. She was here, now, and she was doing pretty well. She had been seeing a new man, Andrew, for the last few months. He was alright, he also worked in the Ministry and was almost as passionate about elves rights as she was. But, there was something that was not quite right. There wasn't a spark; she liked him, but she didn't _have feelings for_ him. Though Hermione brushed off her emotions (or lack thereof), chalking them up to it being a new relationship. After all, she was fairly sure that she was slow-to-warm-up in romantic relationships. None of her short-lived relationships were fiery or love-filled. No, she was pretty sure it took her years to fall in love with someone. At least according to her track record.

She made her way to the corridor leading to the atrium; she was going to floo home as it was too late to walk home tonight. Suddenly, the lights went out. She was startled at first but quickly went to grab her wand to illuminate the room. The Ministry, especially this floor, had been having trouble on and off with the lights, the temperature, the weather, you name it. So it wasn't strange for the lights to stop working, though it was a bit eerie, as most workers had gone home long ago. As far as she knew, she was alone. But she was wrong. Before she could get her wand, hands wrapped around her waist and covered her mouth and she was pulled into the ether by apparation.

* * *

The second Hermione's feet landed on the ground, she elbowed her assailant in the gut and escaped from his arms. She turned to face him, pulling her wand out of her bag as she did. The lighting was dim, but she could just make out who he was.

"Ron?", she asked incredulously. Ron was lent over nursing his stomach with one arm and raising his other in surrender. "What the–," she stopped mid-sentence, realising it might be a trap. "Prove yourself," she demanded.

"I–erm," he stuttered. "On our second anniversary, I tried to propose, but you wouldn't let me."

Hermione lowered her wand. They had agreed not to tell anyone of their disastrous anniversary. Though why he decided to use _that_ antidote to prove his identity was beyond her.

"What is going on?", she screeched. "Why on Earth did you grab me like that? I was sure you were a death eater. And where are we? What is going on, Ronald?" She asked all of her questions in quick succession, not allowing Ron to answer.

"I'm sorry for grabbing you like that; it's protocol," he said.

"Protocol?", Hermione questioned. "You could have just asked me to come, you didn't need to kidnap me. And you didn't answer my questions; where are we?"

"I had to be sure no one saw, and there wasn't time to brief you. As it is," he said, looking down at his watch, "we're running late. If you just follow me, I promise everything will be explained. We need to get a move on."

Hermione huffed but followed Ron down the dark, dingy corridor nonetheless. After a few twists and turns, they made it to an unmarked door. Ron waved his wand over the doorknob, saying a spell that Hermione didn't recognise but was sure wasn't alohomora, and the door swung open.

"Auror Weasley," a voice said as they entered the small office, "and Miss Granger." Under the faint light of a desk lamp, Hermione could see a middle-aged man sitting in the office. His hair was greying and his skin reminded Hermione of leather, but other than that, he was unremarkable. "You're late," he said, looking at Ron. "Please sit," he said to Hermione, motioning to the single chair facing his desk.

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions, Miss Granger, and I will do my best to answer them if you allow me some patience," the man said. "My name is Rowan Chase, and I am the head of the Department of Witness Relocation in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"I've never heard of that department," Hermione said sceptically.

"Then I am doing my job," Rowan said with a smirk. "It has come to our attention that you may be requiring our services."

"Requiring your services?", Hermione asked. She racked her brain for anything she could have seen, or any particularly dangerous cases she was on, but came up short. "But I haven't witnessed anything."

"No, no," Rowan said. "Our name can be somewhat deceiving. We do not only work with witnesses; sometimes we work with individuals who are in need of protection." Hermione stared at him blankly, so he continued: "The Auror department has alerted me to a potentially dangerous underground network of dark wizards. They have flagged you as someone who may be targeted. Because of this, we strongly recommend that you proceed with our programme, for your safety as well as for those around you."

"I haven't heard of any underground terrorist group," Hermione said.

"Do you recall the explosion in central London last week?"

"Yes," Hermione responded. "It was due to a gas leak."

"It was found to be a purposeful attack by this group," Rowan said. "And it doesn't seem to be the first, by any means."

"But what makes you think they are targeting me?", she asked.

"They are made up of former death eaters," Ron piped up. "They have made direct threats against you, Hermione. This is serious."

Hermione stared at Ron, trying to take in what he was saying. It had taken years, but Hermione was finally starting to feel normal. The press had died down, especially after she and Ron broke up. There was no more danger, no more battles to be won. She was just a normal witch, in a normal Ministry job, living a normal life. And she liked it that way. The thought of it all happening again, of her being thrust back into danger, terrified her. And the resolute look on Ron's face convinced her that this was no laughing matter.

"What exactly is this programme?", she asked hesitantly.

"It is the best way to protect you," Rowan said. "No one who has followed our rules, has been found." He picked up a large Manila folder and plopped it on his desk. "You will be taking a new identity, a new life. Some witnesses look at it as a fresh start." He opened the folder which was filled to the rim with official-looking documents.

"Typically, we prefer witnesses to keep their first name, as it is an easier transition. But, with your...recognisability, we have created a new name for you." Hermione picked up an ID card from the pile of documents, it had her picture, her birthdate, and her height, but said the name _Heloise Derne_.

"We have set up lodgings for you. You will not be in hiding, instead, you will be able to live a normal life. We have created a CV for you, and have set up an interview for you to work at a local library. Auror Weasley suggested that that would be a good fit for you." She looked over at Ron, who seemed to be avoiding her gaze. It was hard to focus on what Rowan was saying; there was just too much information. She wished desperately that someone would take her hand and tell her that everything would be okay. But, no one did. So, instead, she listened to Rowan ramble on.

"Of course, you will have to live a muggle life. You can't have any ties to your life now, which includes your work. You also will not be able to use magic, unless you are in danger, which I understand will be challenging. However, we have reason to believe that the people looking for you have access to magical records, including when and where magic is used. It would be too easy to find you, since you will be relocating to a muggle village." Hermione felt numb. No magic? How in Merlin's name would she be able to manage that? She had relied so heavily on magic in the last few years, she wasn't even sure if she could make a piece of toast without it.

"I realise this is a lot to take in, and I will visit you soon to answer any questions you may have. Aside from this," Rowan pointed at the papers, "there is a guidebook in your new home. And I'm sure Weasley will be able to assist you, as well."

"Weasley?", Hermione asked.

"Yes," Rowan said. "Auror Weasley is assigned to protect you, and he will be living with you."

"But–," Hermione started, "surely if I am in danger, he is too. As is Harry and Ginny."

"While I can't comment on the others situations, I can say the Auror Weasley is one of the best Aurors we have, and we do not doubt that he can protect you and himself."

"What about my job, my life?", Hermione asked.

"I'm afraid you will have to leave that all behind. I have an associate at your flat this moment, getting anything that might be necessary for you, and you can give us a specific list of anything else you may need. Though you cannot take anything that ties you to your life now; pictures, mementoes, etcetera. As for your job, it is the official story that you have been sent away to research the life of dragons and are on indefinite leave."

"I–I," Hermione stuttered, feeling shell-shocked. "I have a boyfriend," she said.

"I was unaware of that," Rowan said, eyeing Ron. "Would you like him to come into the programme with you?"

"No," Hermione said, after barely any thought. She and Andrew weren't living together and there was no way she could ask him to give up his entire life for her.

"Well, we can have you pen a letter," Rowan said. "You can't tell him about the programme, but you can say goodbye and tell him you'll be on a work trip. But, I'm afraid you cannot have contact with him after that."

Hermione nodded her head. She hated that she felt relieved, but the idea of ending it with Andrew helped her to breathe a bit easier.

"It's getting late," Rowan said. "I know you must have a tonne of questions, but a good night's sleep may help ease your anxiety. Here are your keys," he picked out a set of keys from his drawer and handed them to Hermione. "We have a driver ready to take you to your home, since you can't apparate."

Hermione nodded her head, still feeling dazed, and Ron stood to go.

"Oh," Rowan said. "I nearly forgot. These," He rummaged through his desk drawer and picked up two small items, "are for you."

Hermione went to take them and saw that they were rings.

"Welcome to your new lives, Mr and Mrs Derne."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, 
> 
> Thank you for all of your support! I will be responding to all of your lovely comments soon! I hope you enjoy this chapter, as we get to see how Hermione and Ron are settling in. 
> 
> Also big thank you to Accio-Broom and The Distant Dusk for helping me with British-related terms!
> 
> ~Dot

By the time Hermione and Ron made it to their new home, it was nearly midnight. Hermione was feeling absolutely knackered and more than ready to sleep for the next few days, at the minimum. Part of her hoped that she would wake up to find that this was all a part of some twisted dream. So, as much as she wanted to explore her new home, instead she asked Ron where her bedroom was and headed straight for it. He had seen the house and had moved his things in earlier that day. 

Her bedroom was decently sized, though it was quite dull-looking. A dated floral wallpaper covered the wall, and in the centre was a large bed with an equally revolting floral quilt. Across from the bed was a vanity and a trunk, which Hermione assumed had her things in it. And... that was it. It certainly wasn't home, but she guessed it would do, for now. 

Hermione opened the trunk and found her nightclothes and went to find the loo to get ready for bed. When she opened her bedroom door, she did not find the loo, but instead found Ron, standing anxiously in the corridor. 

“Hey,” Hermione said, trying to sound casual, as if this was an everyday situation. 

“Hey,” Ron replied, pushing his hair back with his hand, something Hermione knew he did when he was nervous. 

“Everything okay?”, Hermione asked calmly, feeling absurdly ridiculous asking the question. How was anything okay right now?

“Erm–, yeah,” Ron said anxiously. “It’s just, all of my things are in that room.”

“My room?”, Hermione asked. “Should I move into a different room?”

“That’s, erm, the only room,” Ron stated. 

“The only room?”, Hermione questioned. “But…” She didn’t finish her sentence out loud, however,  _ there’s only one bed _ echoed in her mind. She knew they were pretending to be married, but surely they weren’t expected to be  _ that  _ good of actors. Even the nosiest of neighbours was unlikely to ask about their sleeping situation. 

“I could sleep on the couch,” Ron offered. “I just need to get my stuff.”

“No,” Hermione said, remembering the tiny loveseat she passed in the sitting room. There was no way he could fit on that; she doubted she’d fit, either. If only they could use magic, then they could easily turn it into a bed. 

“We’ll just have to...figure it out,” Hermione said, feeling a sudden heat on her face and wanting desperately to be anywhere but there. She excused herself to the loo, wanting to avoid looking at Ron any longer. 

When she returned, Ron was in his pyjamas, hovering awkwardly above the bed. 

“You still prefer to be closer to the window?”, Ron asked, purposely avoiding her gaze. 

Hermione mumbled an agreeing murmur and walked over to the other side of the bed. Together, they pulled the quilt back, and, right as Hermione went to lay down, she noticed a dip in the middle of the bed. With a sigh of relief, she realised that the king-sized bed was actually two twin beds pushed together. She looked up at Ron, who looked equally as relieved. Even though they still would have to share a room, at least they wouldn’t have to share a bed. 

Hermione helped Ron pull the beds apart and tucked herself into her bed. She turned to face the window, able to see the full moon shining down on their little home. She assumed she would fall asleep quickly, but she struggled, tossing and turning. She turned away from the window and saw that Ron was awake too. In fact, it seemed as if he was watching her, his gaze moving away as she made eye contact with him. 

“Don’t you think this is ridiculous?”, she probed. “There has to be a better way to keep us safe?”

“I don’t know,” Ron shrugged, turning onto his back. “They’ve had success with the programme.”

Hermione sighed at his inability to complain. “Surely, you would probably prefer to be out there; to be fighting, instead of being stuck here?”

“Yeah,” Ron said unconvincingly. “But, that isn’t an option. It was either go into hiding and wasting other Aurors time watching over us, or doing this. It seemed like the best alternative.”

_ At least you had a choice _ , Hermione thought ruefully. “What about Harry and Gin, or for that matter, your family?”

“Harry and Ginny are doing the same,” he said. “I have no idea where, or who, they are, just that they’re in the programme. My family is being surveilled, as is yours.” Ron paused, sighing deeply. “I meant what I said before, these threats are serious. I wouldn’t have dragged you into this if they weren’t.”

Hermione suddenly felt guilty, she knew she had been blaming her problems on him, which wasn’t fair. He was in the same boat she was, likely worse since he knew exactly how much danger they were in. As awkward and uncomfortable as it may well be, they were in this together.

Hermione woke up groggy and disoriented and felt like she was hit with a tonne of bricks when she remembered where she was. She looked over and saw that Ron had already gotten up. When they were dating, she always got on him for sleeping in so late. But, she guessed, people change. 

She made her way to the loo, seeing something she hadn’t the night before. 

“Ron,” she called out cautiously. She heard Ron lumbering up the stairs, and he arrived at the door not seconds later. 

“What’s up?”, he asked, slightly out of breath. 

“Sorry,” she apologised. “I didn't mean to worry you. It’s just–did you see this?”, she asked as she motioned to a pile of boxes on the counter.

“I–er,” he said as he picked up a box, “no, I didn’t.” 

“Well, apparently,” she said, “we are supposed to dye our hair,” she picked up a letter attached to a box of dye. “And wear these,” she motioned to two pairs of glasses, “for  _ added disguise _ ,” she quoted the letter. 

“Oh,” Ron said. “Have you ever used muggle hair dye?”, he asked, while reading the directions on the back of the box. 

Hermione  _ had  _ tried to dye her hair before. She remembered coming home one summer after her third or fourth year and rushing to Boots with a plan to dramatically change her appearance. For reasons beyond her at the time, she wanted to have red hair. Of course, looking back, she was able to see that she wanted to emulate her favourite family and her favourite person. Her attempts, however, had gone badly wrong, and she ended up looking exactly the same. In the bright sunlight, she could swear she could see a bit of red reflecting off of her curls. Though, if this was true, no one said anything. 

“Yes,” she replied as she opened one of the boxes. “They want you to go brown, and me blonde.” There were three boxes, one with  _ Ron _ on it, and the other two with  _ Heloise _ . She knew it was going to take her a while to get used to being called  _ that _ .

“It would have been easier if we could have just done this magically,” Ron said, having unravelled the instructions and looking overwhelmed. 

“Yes,” Hermione agreed, “but then, the magic would fade, and we would have to do it all over again.”

They set out all of the materials and began to mix their perspective dyes. Ron attempted to put the dye into his hair, but missed patches. With a sigh, Hermione found a folding chair in a cupboard and instructed him to sit on it. With bleach stinging her scalp, she gently massaged brown hair dye into his hair. 

She was thankful for the tingling on the bleach, otherwise, she felt the closeness to Ron would be too all-encompassing. It helped to distract her, especially when he turned around and she applied colour to his eyebrows. Her face was so close to his that she could feel his breath on her. Her own breath hitched as a glob of dye fell on his cheek and she used a tissue to wipe it away, her memories flooding with all of the times she had touched his face, of all of the loving moments, chaste kisses, and of the time she tried to count all of the freckles on his face. 

She was catapulted back to reality when he coughed softly. 

After waiting for the dye to work, they were faced with yet another dilemma– how to wash it out. Hermione was worried that the dye would stain their only tub. She mentioned how, when she had attempted to dye her hair as a teen, her mum had washed it out in their sink. Ron took the chair he had been using and pushed it up against the sink, motioning for her to sit. 

Hermione carefully sat on the chair as Ron turned on the faucet. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, not knowing where to look. He gently touched her scalp, and she let out an unintentional sigh as he began to massage her head. She tried to steady her breathing as he quietly worked his way through her hair. 

“That should be good,” he said, causing Hermione to jump slightly; she had been too transfixed on the feeling of his fingers causing goose pimples up and down her head. She opened her eyes to see him much closer to her than she expected– barely a couple of inches separated their faces. Though, as soon as her eyes opened, he moved back. 

“Woah,” he exclaimed as she sat up. 

“What?”, she asked worriedly.

“It’s just your hair,” he said. “It’s so…,” he paused appearing to try to find the right words, “yellow.”

Hermione looked at herself in the mirror and wholeheartedly agreed with Ron. Her hair was a dull yellow, reminding her of a scarecrow. 

“This is just the bleach,” she explained, “I still have to colour it.” Ron nodded, though he still seemed taken aback. “Hopefully it will look better than this,” she added under her breath. 

Next was his turn, though thankfully it took much less time to wash the dye from his hair. Hermione tried to distract herself from what she was doing; forcing herself to remember the time she washed her baby cousin's hair and trying to picture her face instead of Ron’s. It didn’t work well. Ron towelled off his hair as Hermione began to add the sandy blonde colour onto her hair. 

“What do you think?”, he asked, facing the mirror and scrutinizing his new look. 

It amazed Hermione how different he looked. He seemed darker, moodier, with brown hair. She didn’t like it; she missed his ginger locks, though she didn’t say. Instead, she picked up his glasses and placed them on his face. 

“You look different,” she said, trying to conceal her disappointment. 

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “Suppose I can’t grow a beard,” he said rubbing his chin. “It would still be red.”

Hermione nodded her head. “No, I suppose you couldn’t.”

“Well, I think I’m changed enough. I thought I’d start breakfast?”, he asked. Hermione agreed and he left her alone to finish her hair. 

Hermione finished dying her hair. Her hair was still wet, and it was hard to gauge exactly what colour it would be when it dried. Though it no longer looked yellow, for which she was thankful. She went back to her (their, she reminded herself) room and changed for the day, plopping her hair up in a small towel to dry. Just as she was about to go downstairs, she remembered something. She fished through the folder Rowan had given her until she found what she was looking for. Her ID picture, the one in which she was Heloise, had blonde hair. She hadn’t noticed the night before, it was too dark to scrutinise at the time. She was impressed with just how prepared the Programme was, and breathed a little deeper, thinking that perhaps joining  _ was _ the right decision. 

Her nose led her to the kitchen, where Ron was making toast, sausage, and eggs.  _ At least one of us can cook without magic _ , she thought. It had only been a few years since they lived together, but apparently, a lot had changed. When they were together, he could barely put together a sandwich. Or, at least, he didn’t care to do more. They lived mostly on takeaways and Molly’s cooking, which, to be fair, was much better than the scraps they lived on during their time on the run.

“Wow,” Hermione said as Ron made her a plate. 

“Always the tone of surprise,” he responded with a smirk. 

“No,” Hermione backtracked, “it’s just–when did you learn to cook the muggle way?” 

“It’s not that hard,” Ron said. “But, sometimes it’s necessary when our magic is being traced or we were undercover.”

“Did you go undercover often?”, Hermione asked, her curiosity peaked. 

“Not often–,” Ron started but was interrupted by the chime of the doorbell. 

They stared at each other, neither moving for a moment. Ron stood and cautiously peered out the window to see who was at their door. 

“It’s one of our neighbours,” he said. 

Hermione nodded her head, put on her best fake smile, and pulled the door open. 

“Hello,” she said, disgustingly cheerfully. 

“Hello,” the middle-aged woman replied. “I’m your neighbour, Carol,” she said as she pushed her way into the house acting like she was invited in. 

“Oh,” Hermione said as she was made to step back to make room for the woman. “I’m Her–erm–Heloise, and this is Ron, my husband,” she barely managed to get out. 

“Welcome to the neighbourhood!” Carol exclaimed. “I made you my famous hotpot,” she pushed a tin foil covered dish into Hermione’s hands. “Just bake it for 15 at 375. The dish has to be hand cleaned– _ hand cleaned _ ,” she reiterated while looking Hermione intently in the eyes. “You can return it any time this week.”

“Right,” Hermione nodded, placing the dish next to her barely touched breakfast, eyeing Ron as she did. 

“So what brings you two to our lovely town of Whitby?”, Carol asked probingly. 

“Erm,” Hermione hesitated, but Ron cut in. 

“I got a job working at the station,” he said. “Plus we were ready to move out of the city,” he added. 

“Oh, I’m sure,” Carol said. “My nephew moved to London. His flat was just dreadful; tiny, loud, and absolutely covered in ants,” she exclaimed. 

Ron nodded solemnly as though that was anything like his experience in London. 

“Whitby is just perfect for starting a family,” she added. “This is a safe neighbourhood and Mount Saint Michaels is a great school. All of my children attended.”

Hermione could feel her cheeks going hot at the suggestion of having children with Ron. She stood there dumbfoundedly as Carol looked at her expectantly. With a jolt, Hermione remembered that she was expected to be a host. 

“Would you like some tea?”, Hermione asked quickly. 

“Oh, no, no,” Carol responded as though that was  _ exactly  _ what she was expected to be asked. “Too much to do today, very busy!” she nearly-shouted. “But, feel free to pop in to mine, I’m just two doors down. Once you’ve gotten settled in,” she said, looking distastefully at the bare decor in the entryway, “perhaps you could join the Neighbourhood Watch. I’m the president and we could always use young blood.”

Hermione and Ron both encouragingly nodded their heads, though Hermione was positive that neither of them would be doing that. 

“Tatty-bye,” Carol said over-cheerily as she sauntered off. 

Hermione closed the door, feeling like Carol had sucked all of the energy out of her. Lying felt insurmountably tough, as if her brain had to work a mile a minute to keep up with conversations. And this was just the nosy neighbour! How in Merlin’s name was she going to be able to put up this facade for long?


End file.
